


The Flowered Years

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Honour, Infidelity, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 09:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11711451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Catelyn's husband leaves a feast early. As does her goodsister. And so she gets talking to her goodbrother.





	The Flowered Years

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided a Cat/Ned _In the Mood For Love_ AU needed to exist, because who even wants to be happy anyway?

She feels almost like she's caught a fever, a thin sheen of sweat dripping from her skin, shivering and yet burning up from the inside. It's just there are a lot of people here, a throng of bodies crowding around the hearth and crowding together, and dancing, and usually Cat likes dancing but she's strangely tired today. All these people have all but set the room ablaze, and the air stinks of sweat and smoke, and Cat takes another sip of wine to drown the scent out. She ignores the fact it makes her feel slightly ill, like she's had too much already.

The Heir to Winterfell's third nameday is a grand occasion it seems, although of course little Robb isn't here for the festivities anymore, she put him to bed with his cousin Jon hours ago – she and Lady Ashara formed a tacit agreement that the two boys were just going to sneak into each others rooms as soon as their backs were turned anyway, so they might as well just put them in the same bed. It's nice Robb's grown so close to his cousin so quickly. Catelyn hasn't seen Lady Ashara since then, but she said she was feeling quite tired, so she's probably gone to bed.

Robb is three years old now and the North will probably be expecting a second son soon, or a daughter, since if they already have one boy they would probably be happy with either. Cat would like another child too, but be that as it may it can't happen tonight, as Brandon isn't here anymore. He said he wasn't feeling well, that he was going to retire to his chambers. Cat half-expected to be invited to join him, but she wasn't. Someone must play host, or hostess. Although she admits she's not really mingling at the moment, watching her guests from afar, listening to them laugh. _The woman carries on like she has no idea,_ she hears them whisper sometimes. _Is she brave, or a fool?_

Cat shakes her head and takes another sip. Thinking of such things will do her no good. Thankfully, she's just then startled out of her reverie by a tap on her shoulder. “Lady Stark?”

She jumps at first, but she relaxes and smiles politely when she sees who it is. “Eddard.” She does not know her goodbrother very well, she hasn't seen him since the man's own wedding, when he brought Lady Ashara all the way from Dorne to the keep Brandon had given him. Brandon has been to visit his brother many times of course, but Cat's always been left behind to look after Robb. Still, she knows Lord Eddard is a good man, and she thinks they've always gotten along.

He looks slightly uncomfortable as he takes the empty seat beside her – he's always been strangely shy her goodbrother, nothing at all like Brandon. “You can call me Ned,” he mutters to the mahogany. “Everyone else does.”

She smiles and repeats the word. “Ned.” It feels soft and warm on her tongue. “Is something the matter?”

He sighs. “No, not really, I just–” a blush crosses his cheeks, and Cat finds herself thinking vaguely that it's rather cute. “–you looked lonely.”

She pauses, then averts her eyes. “I'm alright,” she says, not letting her smile drop, even if he can't see her face. “Brandon just went to bed early, he said he wasn't feeling too well.” He looks back at him with a fond smirk. “In truth, I don't think he can hold his liquor as well as he makes out.” That isn't in truth at all.

“Hm,” says Ned. “Ashara's much the same.” And that doesn't surprise Cat at all – Ashara is _stunningly_ beautiful, so much so it almost worries her, if only about her own capacity for deviancy, but she's rather small and thin, fragile-looking. Sometimes that concerns Cat, sometimes her mother's ghost still haunts her, but from what she heard Ashara gave Ned a son without any real trouble, so she needn't be troubled. In any case, Cat can't imagine it would take more than a couple of glasses to get Lady Ashara drunk.

A lull falls between them. Then, quietly, Ned asks her: “Would you like to dance?”

She pauses, and hesitates. She thought she was too tired, and too hot, and that was why she wasn't dancing. And that might be true, but it's also because no-one has asked in a while, not since Brandon left. He's rather possessive like that; she assumes it's the wolf in him. He doesn't mind any man dancing with her when he's there, when he knows what's happening, but when he isn't...

But Brandon's not going to act like that toward his own _brother_. And she should try and be happy tonight, she doesn't need Brandon here to do that. She likes dancing. So she smiles at her goodbrother. “Thank you, Ned,” she says. “That would be lovely.”

* * *

The floor is crowded, so much so that they have to stand closer than they really ought so they can dance. Ned looks embarrassed, but Cat decides that she's made a decision and she will carry it through. She feels even hotter here, her face blistering pink, but she ignores it, taking her goodbrother's hand shyly and initiating the steps she was taught as a girl, slow, gentle and conservative. Ned fumbles a little to follow her, but he manages to keep up. He's technically not as good a dancer as Brandon, but he's a much more relaxing partner, he doesn't spin her around so fast she gets dizzy and has to cling to him not to fall.

He's shorter than his brother, and plainer, but there's something relaxing about his presence. Like the cool river water she used to bathe in in the mornings before facing the day. He is hard, somehow, in spirit, and reminds her of polished slate she can run her burning fingers along to cool them down.

He spins her more shyly than Brandon does, but still he spins her, she goes rolling into his arms and – suddenly she can't breathe.

“Lady Catelyn?!” he asks, and she finds herself with her head against his chest, her nails digging into his arms to keep herself from falling. She all but fainted, and she can see the crowd turning to look at her with concern. “Are you alright?”

Catelyn manages to right herself, nodding at him and ignoring everyone else. “Forgive me, my lord,” she says. “I didn't mean to startle you. Honestly, I shouldn't have tried dancing in the first place, I'm – I'm feeling rather hot.”

Ned frowns, and for a moment she's afraid she's disappointed him. “Would you like to step outside then?” he asks. “The cool air might help.”

Cat considers that, and nods. Yes, she needs to cool down. “That sounds like a good idea.”

* * *

The cold hits her like a stampede, and she's glad she has her arm circled through Ned's, so she doesn't almost fall again. She's always forgetting how cold it can truly be here, as soon as she moves too far from the hot springs, but she knows this is nothing really, just a spring snow. It will be worse when winter comes again, and although that won't happen for years, Brandon does remind her sometimes, _winter is coming._ She knows he means nothing by it, he only says it because the words mean as much to him as family, duty and honour mean to her, but sometimes it feels like a rebuke, like a reminder she will never fully belong here. She knows she is not ready for the northern winter, but hopefully she doesn't have to be yet.

There are still a lot of people mulling about outside, so Ned, without having to ask, guides them further across the grounds where they fade out of view of Brandon's people. It's quiet now, and Cat's nerves are starting to settle, although she doesn't really no why she was so on edge to begin with. She leans into Ned slightly, and he frowns.

“My lady, you're shivering.”

Cat blinks and realises that she is. “It's fine,” she says through chattering teeth, “I just got a little sweaty in there, I need to balance out.”

Still, Ned quickly lets go of her arm and unfastens his cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders. Cat hesitates a moment, then smiles. “Thank you, my lord,” she says. She feels better now, not too hot and not too cold, less ill. “I hope you won't get too cold?”

Ned shakes his head. “I was born here, I can cope,” he says. _And I can't?_ Cat is tempted to rebuke him, but she knows he didn't mean it like that, he's just trying to be kind. He is kind. His cloak is fairly plain, just dark grey wool, but it's warm and soft. “It suits you,” he murmurs.

“Does it?” she asks. She's surprised. “Hm. I suppose grey has been on both my sigils, or silver.”

“Hm,” says Ned. He doesn't seem one for unnecessary smalltalk, but Cat finds she really doesn't mind. It's nice to spend some time with someone else and yet not have to talk, not have to watch her words and her courtesies. They find themselves just walking the grounds together, their arms linked once again, and Cat feels nice. It's not until after a few minutes she thinks to ask a rather obvious question:

“Wait, where are we going?”

Ned looks at her, embarrassed. “I thought – we might take a walk in the godswood,” he says. “It's quiet there, and private. But if you would like to go somewhere else–”

“No, no, that's fine.” In truth, Cat is often a little reticent to enter the godswood; she feels like an intruder there. A southerner. But if Ned is inviting her, that's different. “To the godswood.”

* * *

It's warmer there, the heat from the springs bubbling up beneath her feet. She hands Ned his cloak back wordlessly. Eventually, they tire of walking, and so they take a break, resting on rocks a yard apart in front of one of the larger pools. It's so dark Cat can barely see him, the thick shade of the weirwoods blocking out the moonlight. “Your son seems a sweet boy,” she says idly. “And handsome too.”

She thinks Ned smiles at her. “He is. I'm afraid he got his looks from his mother,” he chuckles wryly, and Cat frowns.

“I'm not sure that's entirely true,” she says. Ned might not be as handsome as Brandon, but well, Brandon is an exceptionally handsome man. His little brother is not unattractive though, he has his own quiet appeal. “He has your eyes.”

“...He does.” Everyone always goes on about Lady Ashara and her haunting violet eyes. When she looked at Cat while they put the boys to bed, she thought haunting was a very apt word for them. Her own eyes are just plain blue, pretty enough, but nothing special.

“How did you two meet, my lord?” she asks curiously. “If you don't mind me asking. You and your lady wife.”

“The Tourney at Harrenhal,” Ned tells her, and of course. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms was at that tourney. Cat should have been there herself, except she caught a flu three days before they had to depart and couldn't go. “I'd never been further south than the Eyrie, I'd all but melted by the time we got there, but I saw her and... it all seemed worth it. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.” He pauses. “I suppose you think me a fool for being so enraptured by a pretty girl?”

“Not at all,” Cat reassures him. “We're all like that at that age.” She loved Brandon even as a maid, but when Jaime Lannister came to Riverrun she could hardly keep her eyes off him, even knowing he was meant to wed her sister. They didn't even get on really, but he was so pretty. It might be for the best that whole thing fell through then, though she suspects Lysa would have been happier to wed him than old Jon Arryn.

“Hm,” says Ned. “I was too shy to ask her to dance, I had to make Brandon do it for me.”

“Oh?” asks Cat, and she notes how her voice hitches. But she ignores it. “But you weren't too shy to ask her to wed you.” Lord Eddard and Lady Ashara were a love match, she knows that, and one that took the North largely by surprise.

“Only after she asked me to ask her,” says Ned, chuckling again, and Cat chuckles in return. The Dornish are different, she supposes. The laughter dies quickly though, and in the faint moonlight, Cat thinks she can see a melancholy look cross Ned's face. “Sometimes I think I shouldn't have. That I made a mistake, that _she_ made a mistake. She didn't belong in the cold grey north with me. But I wanted her to.”

Cat frowns. She gets the distinct impression he just told her something he hasn't told anyone before. “Is your wife not happy, my lord?”

He sighs deeply. “She tells me she is,” he says. “And I know there's nothing more I could ask of her, as a wife, she's a wonderful mother, and a wonderful lady. We don't have many smallfolk, but they all love her.” He pauses. “But I know she feels... restricted. Cold. Isolated. She's always happiest when we have visitors. Especially my brother. He... he comes with tales of the outside world, from all the places he's had to travel as Lord of Winterfell. From the Wall to Dorne.”

“The Dornish are different,” Cat murmurs. _The Dornish take paramours,_ she thinks bitterly. “But I'm sure it's nothing, Ned. She must have loved you very much to leave her home and people behind for you.”

“Don't most girls have to do that?”

Cat hesitates. Perhaps he's right. Most girls don't have to travel as far as Ashara, or even as far as her, but all of them have to leave their homes and the people who raised them. “Yes, but not many get any say in the matter.”

“Hm.” Cat sighs deeply, searching for words. She means to reassure him, but she's not sure how. “I didn't see her again that night,” he carries on. “The night we danced. It wasn't until days later she...” and as the moon breaks through the leaves above them, he blushes. “Um. Nevermind, my lady.”

Cat blushes a little herself. Well, she supposes he is only a man. “I see,” she says, and tries not to wonder where Lady Ashara was that night instead. _Brandon asked her to dance._ She stares into the pool, seeing her the shape of her reflection, but with all the colour drained out of it in the night. “Do you want to swim?” she asks Ned suddenly.

He blinks. “What?”

Cat feels a little silly for the suggestion, but she won't let her pride abandon her quite yet. “I've not done so in awhile,” she says. Not since she left the Riverlands, really. “I just suddenly really wanted to.”

Ned rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I... don't really know how.”

“I could teach you,” she says.

There's a pause. The moon shines through clearly now, and she can see his face in all it's detail, caught between worry and hope. “...Alright,” he says softly, and awkwardly reaches for the clasp of his cloak. “Should I – take off my jerkin, or down to my smallclothes, or...?”

Cat hesitates. She didn't think of that. She and Lysa used to go swimming naked together as girls, but she can hardly ask that of a man, especially not her own goodbrother. She turns her head from him with a blush. “Nevermind. It was a stupid idea.” Beneath her lashes however, she can't quite help looking at him shyly, finding his face both relieved and disappointed. She looks up to the sky, seeing the moon high above them. “It must be late,” she realises. “Near midnight. We should get back to the castle. Before...” _Before people start to talk._

Ned nods, and as they both stand, he offers her his cloak once more. She folds it over her arm. Then she pauses as she sees him frown again. “My lady,” he says, “are you and Brandon... happy?”

Cat's mouth hangs open a moment. “Of course,” she tries to say, but the words don't come out right. “He's my husband. My father made me a very good match.” That's what she said when she was twelve, newly flowered, barely more than a child. Brandon was a good match, heir to half the land in Westeros. When she was older though, a maid of six and ten, he was more than that. He was exciting. _The Wild Wolf_ , they called him, and his wildness made her feel wild too. She thought she could have it both ways, she supposes, that she could have this dashing, handsome, lustful man and yet still be the good wife and dutiful daughter she was born to be. It seemed easy, when she was young.

But she's older now. Only four years and yet somehow, a lifetime. _I am a woman wed,_ she reminds herself. _I have my duties._ After all, it's not as if she didn't know what he was. The Wild Wolf indeed. And yet she still said the words.

“Brandon's been as good to me as I could expect,” she says. After all, he shares her bed often, and he's a good father to Robb, and if he does have bastards scattered across the North, he's been kind enough to hide them from her. “He's just...” And tears spring to her eyes unbidden. _I'm being stupid,_ she thinks. She turns her head to try and hide them, but from the sound of Ned's voice, she doesn't think she does a very good job of it.

“Are you alright, Lady Stark?” he asks. “...Catelyn? Cat?”

And suddenly she bursts into sobs, throwing herself against his chest, helpless. She does not even know what drives her to cry, but it feels like she's broken a dam she's been building for years. Ned says nothing as she wails, the moon darting behind the leaves once more and leaving them groping for one another in the dark, but she can feel his warm, firm arms fold around her. He pulls her close and strokes her hair softly. Brandon told her how beautiful her hair was on their wedding night, but he hasn't said so again in months.

After a moment Cat recovers her wits, and she pulls herself back with a sniff. “Forgive me, my lord,” she says, wiping her tears away hurriedly. “You must think me a fool.”

“Never,” he says seriously, and suddenly his hand is on her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. “Any man who thinks you a fool is blind.”

Cat purses her lips together, then gives a pained smile. “Thank you, my lord,” she says honestly, and steps away. “Now. To the castle.”

* * *

Things have mostly died down as they return to the castle, and she does not think they get any strange looks, which is a relief. Wordlessly they agree he can walk her to her door. “Where are your chambers, my lord?” she asks curiously, their silence not seeming as comfortable as it once did.

“On the other side of the castle, I'm afraid. Right above the hot springs,” he says. “Brandon's idea, he said my lady wife should take all the heat she can. She must miss Dorne.” Cat nods, and he pauses. “In truth, I can't sleep in the heat. I've been sneaking back to my boyhood rooms instead.”

“I see.” Cat's always struggled a little to sleep in the cold, and wondered if she might be happier if she moved to chambers closer to the springs, but she's never been brave enough to ask Brandon. Her chambers are convenient for him: he can come to her easily when he wants to, and yet she's not so close she knows where he is at all times. _Lady Ashara got those chambers without even asking,_ she thinks. _Mayhaps he knew Ned couldn't sleep in the heat._

They reach her door, and Cat reaches for the handle automatically. But she hesitates. She doesn't want to go in, and when she turns to look at Ned, she can tell he doesn't want her to either.

“When I first met Ashara, I told myself I wouldn't do anything foolish,” he says, staring at her. “I wouldn't ask for anything more than a dance and a kiss. I wouldn't dishonour her. But she was so beautiful... I felt helpless.”

It would be easy, Cat realises. To invite him into her bedchamber. Into her bed. Into her body. She can already think of excuses: _come now my lord, why don't you rest in my rooms a moment? You don't want to disturb your lady wife at this hour._ They wouldn't have to speak of it, they could just sit together, and that could become an embrace, and that could become a kiss, and that could become something else. Cat thought her wooziness was just the heat, but mayhaps not, mayhaps she is with child again, and if that's the case then there is no risk. Even if she isn't, Ned and Brandon look enough alike she doubts anyone would notice. From the look in his dark grey eyes, she knows he wants her. She could have him. She could have this strong, shy, kind man in her, and feel right again for the first time in years. It would be easy.

It would be easy. But it wouldn't be her.

“Good night, my lord,” she says, smiling sadly, and she opens the door.

Ned nods. “Good night, my lady.”

He walks away and Cat steps inside, into the dark, stripping off her clothes and crawling beneath the furs. She tries to get warm.

 


End file.
